


Painters Soul

by WonderingsAndMusings



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Basically its just fluff my dudes, Fluff, M/M, Painting, skin as canvas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-04
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2019-04-18 13:56:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14214612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WonderingsAndMusings/pseuds/WonderingsAndMusings
Summary: "Molly had been a painter in his previous life. His life before the Mighty Nein, before the circus, before the blood and the lies and the fateful day where his destiny sunk its teeth into him and refused to let go. Before any of that, he had been a painter."I had the idea that Molly had designed one of his tattoos and decided he was probably an artist.  This came from there.One more warning, it's brief so I didn't want to tag it as such, but there is mention of Caleb being unhappy with some of his body image, specifically his thighs.  It's pretty small and easy to skip over, but I wanted to make sure I let people know just in case that'll make anyone uncomfortable.





	Painters Soul

Molly had been a painter in his previous life. His life before the Mighty Nein, before the circus, before the blood and the lies and the fateful day where his destiny sunk its teeth into him and refused to let go. Before any of that, he had been a painter.

Standing in nothing but his trousers at a bath house, staring at his reflection in the mirror he allowed himself to remember that time. Looking at the peacock sitting on his shoulder, at the color that decorated his already bright skin, he allowed himself to remember the feeling of a brush in his hand. He allowed himself to remember the sense of accomplishment at completing a piece he worked on for hours or days or weeks. He allowed himself to remember he was able to create beautiful works of art once, pieces he would give to his family as gifts or sell on the corner to cover the cost of more materials.

It was a time before money became a priority. His passion was worth more then gold or silver. But that was before. He refused to let himself be foolish, to think of creating works again would distract him from his goals, from finding the people who made him this way.

But looking at that peacock sitting on his shoulder, looking at the art he had created, the last remaining relic from his past, it was enough to tempt him.

Caleb had asked one night when they had taken the same watch if Molly had designed any of his tattoos. He lied then, because that’s what Molly did. He lied and deceived to protect himself from feeling the pain he has long grown accustomed to.

Jester had bought him a sketch book maybe a month after their first met. “You have beautiful art on your body I thought you might like to make it! Besides, the Traveler loves art,” she had said. He had kept it, along with some basic art supplies shoved in the bottom of his bag. He couldn’t say why he hadn’t just tossed them out long ago, _but perhaps_ —he thought to himself— _I’ll take them out tonight and sketch._

Fjord has once asked him why he decorated himself the way he did, flashy and showy and bright. Molly had simply replied that he liked to stand out. But under it all, he found comfort in the colors. The flash wasn’t bad but it was the beauty he was drawn to. He loved reds and golds and blues, he had decorated rooms in those hues.

_Standing half naked in a bath house, what a place for inspiration to strike._

He day dreamed of filling the book Jester had given him, full of sunsets and birds and Caleb. They hadn’t been seeing each other for very long but he thought of painting his face with a quiet smile playing on his lips, or his hands after casting a spell, or him laughing with Nott and Frumpkin. He thought of drawing him reading by the fire light, or naked and lounging on a bed lit up by the moon. Molly thought of painting pictures of Caleb’s thighs, the part of himself Caleb hated the most, just to show him how beautiful they were.

“Are you ever coming out of there?” Caleb was smiling as he walked into the changing area, only a towel wrapped around his waist. He was wet with the warm water of the bath Molly had paid for but was missing out on.

“I’ll be there soon, Darling.” Molly leaned over to kiss Caleb’s cheek as the wet man moved to wrap his arms around his partners waist.

Caleb stood there for a minute, looking at Molly through the mirror, his chin resting on Molly’s shoulder. Molly leaned into the touch, grateful for the gentle weight of the man keeping him grounded when his thoughts of the past threatened to take him away.

“You probably don’t remember this,” Molly started, “but a long time ago you had asked me if I had designed any of my tattoos.”

Caleb hummed in response and kissed Molly’s shoulder.

“I lied that night. I painted the peacock.” Molly felt a weight he didn’t know he had been carrying lift from his chest as he told his lover the truth.

“I know. Well, I knew you were lying and I could have guessed it was the peacock.” Caleb was smiling as they locked eyes through the mirror.

Molly chuckled, _of course Caleb had known_. “Why didn’t you call me out on it?”

“I figured you’d tell me the truth when you were ready. We all had many secrets back then. Who was I to try and force you to tell the truth when I would barely even answer questions to lie?”

Molly lifted one of Caleb’s pale hands to his mouth and laid a gentle kiss across his knuckles. “Go enjoy the bath. I’ll be right behind you.”

Caleb’s smile faltered and his brow furrowed. He looked through the mirror at Molly’s eyes, trying to see if his lover was hiding something.

Molly turned in Caleb’s arms, kissing him softly on the cheek and whispering, “I promise, Darling. I’ll be out soon. Memories of the past are difficult to escape and threaten to drown but I promise I’ll stay afloat.”

Caleb moved his hands to Molly’s hips, holding him close. He looked worried, but grateful Molly was being honest with him. They all were still unlearning their secrecy, and each truth was a progress.

“If you want to talk about it I’m here. If you want to be distracted from it, I’m here for that too. If you don’t know what you need yet, let me know when you do and I’ll be here when that comes.”

“I know. I know Caleb. I, I just don’t know what to do yet, what I need. But right now I think we both need to get back into that bath.”

Caleb smiled and leaned in to capture Molly’s lips in a brief kiss. “I’ll see you out there,” he said before turning and leaving the changing area.

Molly sighed. He wanted to paint, to let himself be creative again, to let the feeling of accomplishment wash over him as he finished a piece. But all of those would distract him from his end goal. Is it so bad to be a little distracted every now and again?

———————————————————————————————————————

Back at the Inn, Molly dug his supplies out of his bag and sat down in the tavern to sketch. Caleb was sitting with Nott, teaching her a new spell. Molly sat at a far table and began to draw the scene before him. He was far enough away from the others that they probably wouldn’t come bother him, but near enough that he could see the basic shapes Caleb and Nott were making.

Much of what he drew was from memory of the moments when he sat across the table while Caleb explained and showed Nott spells. He spent an extended period of time focusing on their eyes, Caleb’s shining with pride and Nott’s wide with wonder and joy. He hadn’t brought his paints down stairs, but the charcoal rendering was beautiful. He relished in the feeling of his fingers stained black from the material, of bringing what he saw in his mind to life on the paper. While he wished he had color down here so he could bring the blue into Caleb’s eyes and the red into his hair, he was happy with this. He could paint in their room.

Once he finished one sketch he couldn’t wait to do another and another. None of his drawings were fully finished, but he could feel the creativity flowing. He felt like he could cry, like something inside him that was tight and drawn up like a bow string had just been released.

He sketched a hummingbird, Fjord’s falchion, Caleb sitting on a bed. Small drawings, more then two to a page littered the first few pages of his sketch book by the time he looked up and realized Caleb was sitting across from him, smiling wide at Molly. There were tears in his eyes, and Molly realized with a start that their were tears on his face also.

“How are you feeling,” he asked, reaching toward’s one of Molly’s hands. Molly put his sketch pad down and reached out to grab Caleb with stained fingers.

“I feel free.” And with that, Molly was crying, openly but quiet. He was smiling, laughing, crying. The absurdity of the situation obvious in his mind, but the emotions were too much. For the first time in more years then he could count he felt free.

“Let’s go upstairs,” he said after a time, when the tears had stopped and there was only joy. “I want to paint you.”

Caleb nodded and the pair ascended the stair case hand in hand.

When they were in their room with the door shut behind them, Molly wrapped Caleb into a hug. They stayed like that for a moment, holding each other and appreciating the way their hearts beat against one another until Molly took a step back.

“Get naked,” he said, taking off his own over coat and slipping off his boots.

Caleb laughed, “As much as I appreciate the desire to paint nudes of me, I think that should wait until you get a second sketch book, one that is for our eyes only.”

“Did you think I was going to make you sit for a portrait? Caleb, while I fully intend to paint you nude numerous times, I think you misunderstood my meaning. I want to paint you. I want your skin to be my canvas.”

Caleb looked dumbstruck at the words but did as he was told and started stripping down. He removed his coat and book holsters, hanging both on the back of the chair in their room while Molly grabbed the supplies he would need. When Caleb was fully naked, still soft from the bath, Molly guided him to his back on the bed.

“What I want most is to paint your thighs,” he said and Caleb blushed.

“Why? They’re so..” he struggled to find a word to describe the disgust he felt at his thighs. They were pale and large. Even when he was at his thinnest, begging and in prison, his thighs had stayed plump compared to the rest of him. Now that he was eating regularly and moving from town to town and fighting, they were even larger, thick with muscle and fat. He would never understand what Molly found so appealing about his thighs.

“Beautiful. I see them as beautiful Caleb, and I want to paint them so you will see them that way too. But if you are uncomfortable with that, then let me paint your chest.”

Caleb nodded, “Chest.”

Molly straddled Caleb’s hips, resting his weight there as he grabbed a thick brush and a dark blue.

“The paint is going to be cold,” Molly warned, before painting large brush strokes across Caleb’s chest

The dark color showed up well against Caleb’s pale skin. As he reached the bottom of the piece he was creating, he mixed the blue with white, lightening up the color slightly. He waited for the piece to dry a bit before painting planets and stars, creating a galaxy across Caleb. Caleb stayed still as Molly worked relaxing into the feeling of cool wet paint as it contrasted with the warmth of Molly’s hands and hips. It always surprised him how warm his partners skin was to the touch.

As he worked, Molly talked about his past. He didn’t give specifics about what had happened the day his destiny came to him or any of the hardships he had faced. Instead, he focused on the good times. He talked about meeting Yasha for the first time, how she was the first real friend he had since he left home. He talked about home, about painting for his mother and the way their house smelled when she was baking for a birthday party. He told Caleb about tending the small garden behind his house and of the spices used in traditional tiefling cooking.

And Caleb listened.

He listened to every word trying to commit them to memory. He had never heard Molly this happy before, this genuine about his past, this alive.

When Molly had finished, his own hands covered in blues and reds and golds as well as every other shade he still owned, he stood and gave Caleb a hand up. All he had was a small hand mirror, but it would have to do.

He handed the tool to Caleb and watched as Caleb looked at the piece on his chest, stars swirling across an inky blue sky.

“It’s beautiful Molly.”

They stood, both admiring the work in the quiet, the sky outside turning to reds and oranges as the sun faded from the sky and they knew their light would be fading soon.

“I should clean you up. Wouldn’t want you to have to sleep with wet paint all over you,” Molly said while walking towards the door, “I’ll go get some warm water and a rag.”

“I don’t want you to have to ruin your master piece,” Caleb said in protest.

“I painted on your skin knowing I would have to wash it away Caleb. Knowing I’ll be able to put it back when I want to is enough.”

Before Molly could walk out the door Caleb grabbed his hand and pulled him to him. Careful to not lean into Molly’s chest as he was want to do, Caleb kissed him slow and deep. He put a promise into the kiss that he hoped Molly would understand.

“I think I’m falling in love with you Mollymauk Tealeaf. And it scares the shit out of me.”

“And I you Caleb Widogast. At least we can be scared together.”


End file.
